


The challenge

by Kialna



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bicycle, Cycling, England - Freeform, F/M, Holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kialna/pseuds/Kialna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon is having a holiday abroad. She cycles through England and is on her way to Bristol. However, Bristol is on the planning a day later and she decides to spend a night in a little town. She's surprised by the courtesy of the people and meets a new friend, who carries a mystery with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The challenge

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspiration I had because I will go on a holiday for real in July 2013. At the time of writing this, I didn't go yet, but many of the things described in dialogues are true. But the rest of it is pure fiction. Enjoy!

The violins swell as the sun rises above the hills, the cellos get louder as I regulate my breath. I get my sunglasses and put them on my nose while looking at the hillside. Moments ago I packed my tent and prepared my bike. The rhythm grows stronger as I paddle harder. Looking up at the horizon, I can see sunrays coming up behind the hill I am climbing. The crescendo gets there, and I reach the top of the hill. It’s time for a pause to enjoy the sunrise in the early morning. I’m not used to wearing a helmet, so I take it off for a second to enjoy the climax of the classical music while looking at the countryside that expands beneath me. A smile crosses my face and I feel truly happy. I am alone, the wide fields in front of me. The sun lights my face, and I wipe away the sweat. “ _I wish I could show my dad when I come back how it has been.”_ But I can’t. The music silences. I hold my helmet against my chest. He was the one who made me wear one. As I am from Dutch heritage, I grew up with bicycles and using them. Using a bike is like walking, and helmets aren’t part of it. But going to a foreign culture where biking isn’t as normal as my own, my dad insisted I should wear a helmet. His passing was expected, but it was too soon. He only just made his 52nd birthday and died shortly after. The battle that had been brewing in his body had come to an end. It was for the better, as what he was doing before he passed could no longer be called living, only fighting. I put the helmet on my head and close the chin-strap. Looking ahead is a long road and the temperature is rising, so I take a quick look on my phone to see where I am and look in the direction I have to go. “Forty miles to go before I get to Bristol. Maybe a stop in-between for lunch.” I put away my phone and get on the bike again, starting to paddle again while a motivational song plays in my ears. He would’ve been proud.

 My name is Sharon, I am 22 years old. I am cycling through England for fun, but the trip has become more important. It means so much more to me than just a holiday. It is my escape from the everyday life, my escape from a country in which I no longer feel at home and now also a challenge which, if completed, could make my dad proud. Even if he isn’t alive any more, he’d love to see his daughter thrive. I’m already half-way through my trip but the fun only just started. The joy I get from cycling through strange countries is indescribable.  However, the thing that genuinely makes me happy are the people who are open and polite, but also very interested in why I chose the bike. The English don’t seem to know cyclists as we do. They either drive around me in a large circle, or come way too close. They are rather insecure about how to treat cyclists. Nothing is more fun than to sit and talk with them about how the Dutch do it.

I pass a sign, telling me that the next town is in 3 miles. I can already see the skyline of Whitminster. When I enter the town I search for the supermarket and park my bike close to it. As I chain my bike to the fence people are looking at me. I can feel their eyes and I smile. Inside the supermarket I get nothing more than a loaf of bread and a jar of chocolate paste. I still have my bottle of water which I refilled this morning, so I go to the checkout. I have already covered 17 miles for today, and it’s still morning. I am catching up in time and I might be able to spend an extra day in Bristol, unless something happens. I laugh and mutter to myself “a miracle must happen before I stay in the middle of nowhere.” I pay my bread and chocolate paste, and walk outside. The temperature is still rising but it’s not uncomfortable. I unchain my bike and move on to the countryside again. A funny feeling arises in my tummy and I smile a bit. _“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that remark in the shop…”_ I thought. I might have jinxed my trip by saying that. I shake my head and get on the bike. When I leave Whitminster I say to myself I have to go on for a while now, since there aren’t many towns until I get to Bristol. I have all day but I don’t want to spend all day cycling. I leave Whitminster behind and look at the road ahead. Landscapes like this don’t exist in The Netherlands.

I feel my stomach growling and I look around. No signs for a town nearby so I pull over and walk into a field. I take off my helmet, shake my head and wipe the sweat off my forehead. Looking over the landscape while I brush my hand through my hair, I get my bag. When I open the bag, I get the loaf out of it and take my pocketknife. It’s a nice day, around 25 degrees Celsius and not windy. Just a light breeze that plays with the grass and the few trees in my sight. I realise that in the hours that have passed, I haven’t seen any other cyclist and, maybe just one car. I enjoy the silence and listen to the birds on the moorland. A sudden urge to write something emerges and I dive into my backpack to get my notebook. I look through the notes I already wrote and laugh. _“Ah yes…London was amazing.”_ I think back on the three days that started my holiday. London was so different from the place I am now. It was a wheezing city that was never silent. Cycling through its wild traffic was a survival race on its own. But it was amazing fun to visit the city of many stories. To relive certain parts of Harry Potter, to follow the footsteps of Sherlock Holmes and to see the old bailey still standing there, without being blown up by V. I read a certain passage I had written about a mysterious note I had gotten after I went to a show on my first night in London. I never knew who had given me this note, and I never knew what it meant. I flicked through the notebook until I got to the note and looked at it. It said ‘Please keep telling me your stories’ in a very distinctive handwriting. It reminded me of dad’s handwriting, but I knew it couldn’t be dad. I go back to the pages that describe London while I take another bite out of my sandwich. The next few pages are about my time in Manchester, and how hellish the trainride had been. Well, hellish compared to what I’m used to and it made me smile. I read about how I met a friend at ComicCon in Manchester, and how much fun we had. I wave away a fly and take a sip of water. I write down how the day had been and that I had covered most of my distance today already before 2PM. At this rate, I could take a trip to Swindon and still get back to Bristol in time. But it was a risk I wasn’t sure of taking. Because if I did and something went wrong, I had to skip Bristol in total and go from Swindon to Southampton in one go. I suck at the end of my pen while I think of something else to write about the trip. I take a look at the note I received. “ _No initials or hints at all…”_ and I flip it around. The back has a white sticker on it but nothing else. I put it back in the notebook and write down:

“No clue about the note I received yet.”

I shake my head and pull out my sketchbook. I make a quick sketch of the surrounding area and close the book. Suddenly I hear something I haven’t heard in a while. It sounds like a car. Pleasantly surprised that this area might not be abandoned after all I try to find out where it is. I stand up and use the hill to see the area. The car is already too far away and not coming any closer. “Wow. Another car. In three hours!” I laugh at the thought. There were no places with so much silence in my country. I pack my stuff and get back on the bike. “Time to move on!” Longing for a powerful song I shuffle my iPod until I have something that fuels my legs accordingly.

The landscape passes by as I cycle through it and mouth the song I’m listening to. My legs are starting to get tired and I decide to stop at the nearest town to get rest and sleep. The nearest town is more to the east and I will have to divert from my initial path. However, Bristol is still more than 20 miles away so I turn to the east. After a while I get into a small town where each house has its own land and look like they were built themselves. Or rather, designed by the people themselves. No house looked the same, something I love so much about other countries. One house looked like a barn, the other like a plain house, another looked like a box with a roof. Not too much effort it seemed. After a few streets I got onto a town’s square and looked around. A little church, a pub, a little flower shop, a bakery and a butcher were on one side. On the other side there was a little supermarket and a hairdresser. In the corner there seemed to be a restaurant and an Inn. The inn also had a nice terrace. The funny feeling in my tummy returned. Something was off but I couldn’t place my finger on it. I looked around and my shoulders hung in disappointment. Of course, how could I forget? They’re not used to cyclists, therefore I couldn’t park my bike in a bike parking. Some old men and women were sitting on the terrace and saw my doubts. I shuffled towards the terrace and bolted my bike against one of the poles on the square and walked towards the pub. The men and women seemed intrigued by my appearance. Of course, who wouldn’t, when a 22 year old young woman arrives with a bike and a few bags which obviously contain a tent and a sleeping bag? When I enter the pub I see the bar, and walk towards the man behind it.

“Hello, um… I’m not sure if it’s alright to park my bike like this? Is it okay?” The man behind the bar, probably the owner, had a stark face but wasn’t nearly as stark as he looked. His gaze softened when he saw who had asked the question. I saw a question mark form across his face. I realised I still wore my helmet and backpack.

“You’re not from around here aren’t you?” He said.  
No not at all” I replied. “I’m on a holiday.”  
“I figured as much. The bike is fine, but why the bike?”  
“Because it’s my preferred method  of transport.”  
“Is it? Where are you from? The big city?”  
“Um, no. I’m not English at all.”  
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed, although the bike itself is quite a giveaway.”  
“I guess so. It seems people around here are only used to racing bikes and mountain bikes.”  
“Yup. You sound like you’re from Newcastle.”  
 “I’ve heard that before, but I’m really not. Trust me.”  
“Yeah you said you weren’t  English at all. Swedish maybe?”  
“Haha no. Why Swedish?”  
“A hunch, but apparently a wrong one.”  
“Yeah, I’m from The Netherlands”  
“Really? The Dutch usually have this painful accent, but I have to admit, they are one of the few countries that actually learn proper English and are able to master it. But the accent…”  
“You get lots of Dutch in here?”  
 “Oh no, not lots. Just every once in a while one pops up. Just like you.”

He smiles and I see he misses a few teeth. I look around and ask for a glass of Fanta. I pay him and put my bag on the ground in front of me, against the bar.

“So, I was wondering… Do you know a place where I could stay tonight? Like on a farmer’s land? Or someone with a spare bedroom?” I asked.  
“Well, unfortunately my rooms are full, and I’m the only inn in town. There is no campsite near, but there are people who allow people in. You could try Tim. He’s an old friend of mine, lives near the edge of town. He has enough land for a tent I reckon.”  
“Which edge should I look for?” I say jokingly. The man grins  
“I’d go southwest.”  
“Okay, is it recognisable?”  
“Oh yes it is. It’s right across a white house with a hedge. The woman who lives there isn’t very sociable. But Tim lives across that house.”  
“Well, thanks a lot!”  
“No problem! I hope you enjoy your stay in our little town.”

 I take my backpack and walk outside, looking how many roads went to the southwest. But this town had only one main road going southwest.

As I whirred down the main road to the southwest, I noticed no white house with hedges yet, and the town started to become less of a town and more of scattered houses. Then suddenly a hedge appeared, and through the gate I could see it was the white house. I turned around and saw the land that belonged to this so called ‘Tim’. It was almost comical to see the contrast between the neatly kept hedge of the white house against the somewhat crooked wooden fence of the land. My mind went blank. _“How do I even explain how I got to them?”_ In a flash I realised the innkeeper could’ve called him, and tell him about my arrival, but as soon as I opened the gate I noticed that this was not the case. There was no one in sight and my shoulders hung, but I pressed on anyway. With the bike in my hand I walked towards the little barn-like house on the land and carefully put my bike against one of the walls. To live here would be wonderful, far away from the stress and the daily life. I walked around the house and noticed a garden in which vegetables were planted. I heard voices and my heart raced. I didn’t want to startle them or get them angry. I knocked on the wall and they went silent. I put my head around the corner and looked at their surprised faces.

“Eh…erm. Hello…I’m sorry to disturb you, but I want to ask something.”  
“Of course!” One of them said. I came closer and noticed an elderly man and woman, of which the man probably would be Tim.

“I was told that you wouldn’t mind a visitor for one night?”  
“Of course not my dear! You’re welcome to stay. We like some company every once in a while.”

 I was shocked. That was easy. In The Netherlands people would rather say ‘no’ and dismiss you within a whim, afraid you’d steal their belongings.

“Thank you, that’s very kind. I’m sorry, I’m not really used to this kind of courtesy.”

The woman smiled and the man asked me where I came from.

“I’m Dutch…”

The look on their faces became even more welcoming. The man laughed and said: “Well, that explains the bike!” I giggled and nodded.  
“Pretty much so, yes. The innkeeper said the same thing. Well, I will go and get my tent then.”  
“Tent? Are you sure you want to sleep in a tent? We do have a spare bedroom you know.”  
“That’s very kind of you, but my tent needs to dry anyway because it rained yesterday.”  
“Oh don’t worry, you can put it up but you don’t have to sleep in it if you don’t want to.”  
“Well thank you. I will get my stuff then.”  
“I will show you your room” Said the woman smiling.

I followed her inside with my bags in my hand and I noticed the interior was warm yet dark. Very much expected at this region. We went up and she showed me my room. It was sober and dark, with a window that looked out over the field. A dark wooden chest and ironing supplies were stacked in the corner. I saw a power socket and put in the EU to UK adapter and charged my phone.

“You can stay as long as you like.” The woman said.  
“Oh thank you, but I will leave tomorrow again. I have to go to Bristol.”  
 “Will you have supper with us?” The woman looked rather expectantly.  
“If it’s not too much trouble I will.”  
“Oh we would love to have you join us.”  
“I’ll be there. If there’s anything I can do in return of favour, let me know.”  
“Oh dear, that’s not necessary, we’re already glad there’s someone. Now I will leave you to your unpacking dear.”

She turned around and left me behind in the room. I unpacked my pyjamas and placed them on the bed. When I looked out of the window, I could see the elderly couple talk to eachother. This was so odd, so kind and so unknown to me. There were still good people in the world and this holiday was proof of that. It gave me a warm feeling of hope. Humanity wasn’t lost. Not yet. This would be another nice addition to my quest.

“Would you two like to sign my flag or write something on it? And after you’ve done that, pose with it?” I asked the elderly couple.

They were amazed and delighted. “Of course!” they said. I explained over supper what the flag meant, and why I took it with me. The Dutch flag I had with me was covered in signs and little remarks of people I had met over the last few days. It became part of the holiday just as much as my bike was. They wrote on the flag, posed with it and smiled. It made me happy to see people do this. After dinner I helped to wash the dishes in the kitchen and went outside. It was still light and after putting up my tent to dry, I laid in the grass, looking at the sky that slowly turned orange and purple. I noticed that I still had energy, so I told them I’d have a spin on the bike around town without all the luggage, and probably have a drink in the pub. In the end, I didn’t go to the pub. Something was nagging at me, and I had felt it since this morning. It wasn’t a funny feeling anymore. It was burning curiosity. I cycled back to the house, listening to powerful music. It gave me so much energy, I was almost racing. Singing along to the music I went down the road, and when I entered the driveway I noticed there was a car that wasn’t there before. _“More visitors?”_

Dancing to the music I locked the bike and removed my helmet. It still wasn’t completely dark and a quick look at my phone showed it was around 10 o’clock in the evening. I walked past the car towards the front door and noticed it was quite a nice model and took a closer look. I giggled like a little girl because if anything, I was less of a girl and more of a boy. My dad would’ve loved this. I was reminded of the evenings we would watch TopGear together on the couch, talking about cars. We would talk about planes, trains and ships. About engineering and mechanics. I was his son instead of his daughter. Of course I was his daughter, but I was the one with whom he could talk about these things, while my sisters spoke of boys, make-up and fashion. But he wasn’t here and I just looked up to the stars, somehow hoping he could see what I saw. I wandered around the house and in the backyard there was a third person having a sip of wine with the couple. Apparently they knew eachother.

“Ah there she is” Said Tim.  
“Hi..” I said. “I’m Sharon.”

The young man got up and shook my hand.

“Hello Sharon, pleased to meet you.” He smiled and he reminded me of someone I knew. The woman smiled and said: “This is our son.”

“Oh I see, that’s why you guys know eachother.”  
“Hah yes!”  
“So, what are you doing here?”  
“Cycling through England.”  
“Is there any reason for that?” He asked.  
“No. Not really. Except to relax and escape from my own homeland and maybe, secretly looking at venues to live and jobs to do.”  
“Really? You want to live here?”  
“Well not literally here, but somewhere else than where I live now. I look for venues and jobs in Germany all the time too.”  
“I see.”

I looked at the young man, and he didn’t seem like a farmer, but not a citydweller either. 

“Do you…still live with your parents?” I ask unsure.  
“Hahaha no, sorry, I live on my own in London.”  
“Really? I have been there earlier this month.”  
“Have you now?” He said while a bemused smirk grew on his face.  
“Yes. Arrived on July 15th, left London the 17th.”  
“Why so quickly?”  
“I figured three days were enough and went to Manchester.”  
“By bike!?” He exclaimed.  
“No by train, with the bike.”  
“Oh I see.” And he relaxed.  
“I’m crazy, but not THAT crazy” I said.  
The woman laughed and said: “Well you’re going to Bristol and Southampton too, so why wouldn’t you?”  
“Manchester is a bit further away. Besides, I only went there for Comic Con.”

It went silent for a moment.

“Sharon, would you like a glass of wine?” Tim asked.  
“Sure, but only one. I don’t drink a lot. Not anymore.”  
“What happened?” Tim seemed curious.  
“Well I can’t stand drunk people-“ The young man snickered. “and alcohol has a very weird effect on me.”  
“Really?” The young man said with an air of disbelief.  
“Yes. I get quite jumpy when I’ve had too much. I can’t sleep because I am practically running around as if I’ve had an overdose of sugar.”

The woman turned to her son. “Will you stay tonight?”  
“I suppose I could, it’s about 2 hours of driving before I’m home and it’s past 10 already.” He sighed.  
“What about work?”  
“I have a day off tomorrow so it’s fine.” He turned to me. “What’s your job?”

I stared at him. The curious look in his eyes made me uncomfortable. Not in the least because the question reminded me of a turbulent memory.

“I…I have none. Not anymore.” The smile disappeared from his face.  
“What happened?”  
“Many things.”  
“I see. If you want to explain, you’re welcome to.”  
“Nah I don’t want to bother a stranger with my story, I already do that too much.” I noticed he flinched at the word ‘stranger’.  
“How do you do that then?”  
“I write letters. But I won’t tell who I send them to. You’ll only laugh.” His eyes narrowed.  
“I see.” He smirked again, and I receive my glass of wine from Tim, supposedly his father.

“So, did you enjoy London?” I remembered my passage in the notebook and answered.  
“Yes I did, it was amazing, but very different from here.”  
“It really is. What did you do in London?”  
“Cycle a lot.” They started laughing “And visited some places I know of certain series.”  
“Anything else?” He seemed intrigued.  
“Well yes. I went to a show on the 15th, which was amazing.” A moment of silence.  He had a look of confirmation on his face, and looked at me from the corner of his eyes. Waiting for me to say something.

“Hang on, why did you ask if I did anything else?”  
“Because I feel I’ve seen you before” He answered.  
So I wasn’t mad. I did recognise his face, I saw him that evening in London. “I see. Well then we’re not complete strangers.”

The sky got darker and darker, the stars appeared on the sky, and this might’ve been the most fun evening I’ve had thus far. I want to get up and go to bed, so I announce my retirement. “I’m going to sleep, I have more to do tomorrow.” I get up and get my glass. “Goodnight dear” says the woman. Tim and his son are looking at me and waved me goodnight. I went upstairs and changed into pyjamas. Not too long after I went upstairs I heard the others retire as well. Silence fell over the house and an owl hooted in the distance. I closed my eyes and drifted away into the world of dreams.

By the time I woke up, the sun was already up and shining, but not high in the sky. A quick look on my phone showed me it was nine in the morning. I heard stumbling in the rooms next to me, and I knew the owners were already downstairs. I got upright, stretched out and straightened my back. When I got up I felt my legs burning. It wasn’t the worst muscle pain I’ve had, but annoying anyway. I get downstairs and ask if I can use the shower. They gave me a towel and I went back up and into the bathroom. The shower is in the corner and I mix the water until the temperature is perfect. The water runs down my body as I massage my thighs. The blood rushing through them should remove the lactic acid in my legs. It smoothens the pain and relaxes the muscles. After I got out of the shower I put on my cycling clothes and went downstairs for breakfast. While eating my toast the young guy came downstairs. He greeted his parents and sat opposite of me while nibbling on some toast as well.

“It feels good to have a day off for once.” He said.  
“I can imagine” I said.

He looked at me with a piercing look. “Can you?”  
“Maybe not, but you sound like a busy man.”  
He smirked. “Yes I am.”

I sigh, and feel a bit uncomfortable.

“Say, when do you leave?” He asked.  
“After I have packed my stuff probably.”  
“I wish to speak to you in the garden if you could?”  
“Uh…sure.” He smiled and returned to his food.

While writing in my notebook about the last evening I remembered the note again. I looked at it and tried to remember who gave it to me. He had been there, he hinted at that, but would it be him? There were no hints at all on the note. I played with it, hoping to find something but nothing showed up. I slid it in my pocket and forgot about it. I got my bags and walked down the stairs. The temperature was already up to 20 degrees and the weather was still nice. I did notice a few scattered clouds and checked my phone to see if more was coming. The forecast looked well enough for the day. I should arrive in Bristol without any rain, which was wonderful. I dismantled the tent I had set up the previous night, and packed it. After all the packing was finished, I mounted the saddlebags on the bike and put the backpack against it. While I wandered through the garden, I was wondering where the young man was waiting for me.

“Psst! Up here!” He said.

I looked up and he had climbed up in a tree.  He jumped out of it and landed in front of me, but it wasn’t very elegant. In fact, it was more like falling with a supposed landing. I giggled a bit and asked if he had planned to land like that. “Um no. Not really.” He rubbed his back and looked at me.

“Follow me.”

I followed him into the grassland they owned. It wasn’t a huge piece of land, but big enough for me.

“Let’s lay here and have a talk. I gave you a hint last week but you didn’t seem to get it.”  
“So you DID give me that note.”  
He smiled. “Yes.”  
“Um.. ‘please keep telling me your stories’ what do you mean by that?”  
“You said you bother strangers with your stories, and do so by letter right?”  
“Yes I did.” At this moment, my doubts were gone, but I didn’t want to betray myself so I played unknowing  a little longer.  
“What made you think I’d laugh at ‘who’ you’d write those to.”  
“I have no idea. Honestly. You’re absolutely confusing me. I think I know you and yet you’re a complete stranger.” He frowns.  
“No I’m not. I’m really not a stranger. Not in the sense you’re talking about.”

My face goes blank and I sarcastically raise an eyebrow. This young man has something cat-like. Certainly not the climbing skills, but more the features in his face and body. He sighs.

“Open the note.”  
“Open it?”  
“Yes. Didn’t you figure it out?”  
“How?”  
“Can you hand it over to me? I’ll show you.”  
“Good luck.” I handed him his note and he looked puzzled.  
“Oh…it got squeezed together. There are slits here, do you have nails?”  
“A bit.” I wedge a nail in between the slits and we manage to open it.

When it’s open I’m staring at the contents of the note. It’s an e-mail address. I stare at him and he grins.

“Saves you the mail fees.” My mouth falls open.  
“You…what? I mean…”  
“I’m surprised it took you so long.” I’m laughing.  
“Oh no. I knew on an instant who you were, I recognised you in London already. It’s just that I don’t want to behave any different towards you. And I had a little bit of doubt.”  
“Oh…” he sounds a little disappointed and yet delighted.  
“Well, this is faster and easier. And..thank you.”  
“No thank you.”  
“I mean you do not act weird or anything.”  
“Well…you’re just you. Just a man. And you have a job. You’re employed. I’m not. Not anymore.”

I sadden a bit. I remember that awful week of my birthday. He notices.

“What happened?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I can see your face, don’t try to hide. And to be honest, you sent me letters every few months and suddenly you went silent. I never heard anything from you again. I knew you’d come so I made sure I could see if you were fine. I thought you were busy, but seeing you now shows that there is something very different from your last letter.”  
“Well yes. What do you remember?”  
His gaze softens and replies: “Your dying dad.” And he glances up into the sky.  
“Ah yes. He’s dead. He died half-way through June.”

He looks at me in a stark expression and seems to be unable to know what to say or express.

“It’s okay.” I said. “His suffering is over. It wasn’t living anymore…”  
“I understand. I’m sorry.” He said.  
“No no...I’m more sorry than you can imagine. I lost everything within a week and he lived to see me fall. But he didn’t live to see me rise.”  
“Ouch…”  
“I remember my birthday. I went to the Star Trek premiere. It was an awesome day. Until I walked out of the theatre and noticed my bike had been stolen. It never got stolen before but now… This sickened me. Physically. Because it was my only form of transport. To work, to school, to everywhere. I did it all with my bike and it was stolen from me. Taken from me. Just like my laptop and my phone a few weeks earlier.”  
“I remember your laptop.”  
“You do?” I look at him with a frown.  
“Yeah. How could I forget how we met?”  
“We didn’t meet!”  I exclaim. He shrugs.  
“You know what I mean.”

He puzzles me, but it amuses me.

“Please, continue.”  
“So I called the police and walked home. My feet hurt, and I actually had blisters from walking. I couldn’t sleep because I was stressed, angry and ill. I tossed and turned and awoke in sweat. I couldn’t eat and work like this, so I called off work and tried to fix a new bike within 24 hours, so I could go back to work as soon as possible. However, my employer wasn’t happy with me and called me later to tell me they didn’t want to go on with me. It was in my trial period so they could kick me out without any reason. A few days later I figured out they never believed my bike was actually stolen, but it was too late. The damage had been done. That day killed me. I called mom and told her the story, she just felt so empty. And it got worse because the next day we heard that dad might die before the weekend. It was the most horrible birthday I’ve ever had.” I sigh. “But after all those bad things something good will always arise and I decided to study again. It’s something.”  
“What are you going to study?”  
“Drama for both acting and writing. I’d like to branch out to writing more.”  
“I can understand why. You’re an interesting writer. I love your letters.”  
“Thanks.”  
“You’re interesting in many ways though. 22 was it? And look at you. 22 and so strong. You’re almost like a woman of 35 in life experience. I can imagine people look up to you.”  
“Yes they do. But I don’t really understand. I haven’t achieved anything notable. I just survived.” “Well sometimes that’s an achievement on itself.” I sigh, knowing he might be right.

A moment of silence falls between us and I start giggling. ‘

“I’ve never heard you this silent.” I say mockingly.  
“Well you’ve said it yourself. I’ve met my match.”  
“No kidding.”  
“So..it’s 11 in the morning. You want to go to Bristol. When do you leave England?”  
“The 30th of July.”  
“And then it’s back to The Netherlands?”  
“Yes. OH! RIGHT! Will you sign my flag and pose with it?”  
“Ah sure!” A gleeful grin spreads on his face.  
“Thank you.”

The flag had been taken out and signed within a few minutes. And before I retrieved it, a childish smile appeared, and in his eyes I could read mischief. He ran off with it and disappeared in a row of trees. I should’ve seen this coming. I ran after him but it was no use. He already returned without the flag. I spotted it in a tree, and he challenged me.

“What do you want?”  
“I want you to get it, and see if you’re anything like I imagined.”  
“You imagined me?”  
“A bit. You seem like someone who’d climb a mountain and skydive if you could.”  
“Hah yes. I’d love that.”  
“Well then! Go and get your flag. I’ll film you.” And he takes out his phone.

I roll my eyes, and yet a huge smile covers my face. I climb in the tree and get the flag. Now I have to go down. Slowly I reach for branches and jump out of the tree when I reach the lower branches.

“Whoo, that was rather quick” he says while putting his phone away. “But then again, you do have powerful legs.”

I’m taken aback by that remark.  And he noticed that. The time seemed to stop. The sun has risen completely now and I notice my cycling trousers are a bit too warm. And here I am in the corner. A part of me wants to zip off the lower part of the trousers so they become shorts, the other part of me wants to keep it intact to cover my legs.

“I am SO sorry!” He says, while he covers his face with his hands. “I didn’t mean to!”

I relax. He kind of looks disgruntled at his own mistake.

“I just noticed it. I couldn’t stop it.” He says.  
“Well, I see work has taken you over. But I can see where you’re coming from though. If you cycle every day, used to snowboard every week and did martial arts… I can imagine the legs are quite... disproportional compared to my arms.”  
“Well at least you’re not an ice skater.” I laugh.  
“It’s a compliment.” He tries.  
“I know but I’m very bad with compliments.”  
“I know what you’re feeling.”

We stare towards the house.

“We’re quite alike, you and I.” He says.  
“Maybe. But don’t think I--”  
“No! Oh… no. Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” He cut me off.  
“Friends. Just friends.” I correct him.  
“That’s for the best, yes.” A subtle tone of sadness.

But I know why. It’s not meant for me. It’s a general tone of sadness. Someone like him would have many friends, but nothing more than that. I know what he feels. Never really alone, but still lonely.

I can see his parents looking at us. It’s past 12 and I feel the need to leave.

“I have to go. Otherwise I’m going to be VERY late in Bristol.”  
“I understand. But what if I brought you there?”  
“How are you planning to bring my bike along in THAT car?”  
“Erm. Yeah.  You got me there.” And he scratches the back of his head.  
“Sorry. I really have to leave.”  
“Don’t lose that note then.”  
“I won’t. I’ll keep it close.” I assure him, and I show him where I put it.

We walk towards the house and his father is on his knees in the garden, tending vegetables. His mother is watering the flowers. I say goodbye and thank them for everything. I reach into my wallet and hand them 15 pounds.

“Oh no no, don’t do that. We have enough and we loved your company. You will need it for your trip.” Says the woman. She hands it back to me.  
“But…”  
“No.” Says Tim with a smile.  
“You will have to eat and sleep. Those 15 pounds can be very useful.”

I thanked them and got my backpack. Just when I’m about to put on my helmet and leave, the young man runs after me.

“Do you still have my note close by or did you pack it?” I reach into my pocket and hand it to him.  
“Here it is.”  
“Wait here for a moment.” He runs into the house and returns in a few minutes with the note neatly folded. “Here. Don’t open it yet. Open it when you arrive in Bristol. Will you do that for me?”

I look at him and nod.

 “If you want me to…” His face enlightened with childish delight.  
“Yes please!”

He awkwardly stands next  to me and looks expectantly. I’m confused.

“What... do you want?”  
“Nothing. Just…you know. A goodbye-hug would be nice. I think it might be good for you too.”

I lean forward while still on my bike and hug him.

“Like so?” I tease.  
“Without the bike would’ve been easier, but it’s fine.”

 I let go and prepare my iPod for leaving. Something powerful and energetic to take me to Bristol. The song starts and I wave goodbye.

After three hours I’m back on the countryside on my own, seeing the Bristol skyline hiding behind a hill. It somehow didn’t feel like three hours, but I really did it. It’s around dinnertime and I smell food at every house I pass. Just before Bristol I turn left and follow little signs towards a campsite. I managed to get a small space for my tent, and locked my bike against the fence next to the reception. I walk towards my place and unpack the tent. When the tent is done, I make the bed. It’s less comfortable than last night, but the tent has a certain charm to it. The sky cleared up and I can watch the stars tonight. However, at this moment, the sky is still blue and the sun gives me all the light I need. When the luggage and the bed in the tent are done, I get my bag and walk back to the reception to get my bike. I’d like to have dinner in the center of Bristol, at a cafeteria or something. When I walk towards the bike I notice something in my pocket. It’s the note. I open it again and I froze. My stomach fell on the ground and I didn’t know how to feel. I couldn’t feel. The note was edited with a phone number, and there was more. Something I couldn’t even accept. I took out two notes of 100 pounds. _“Did he just give me 200 pounds?!”_   When I took them out, I noticed he wrote something extra.

“Call me when you’re in Bristol. I don’t want you to starve. Keep the money”

A tear escapes my eyes. I’m not sure if it is a happy tear or not. But I do as I am told, and a few minutes later I’m on my way to the center of Bristol, not sure if I’m going to regret this decision or not. It’s an opportunity I would probably never have again. I grin and cycle on, this holiday wasn’t over yet. I had made a new friend, and it made me very happy. Anything could happen, but right now, I couldn’t think of anything that could spoil it.


End file.
